


Luxuria

by iconic (I__A)



Series: Septem Mortalibus Peccatis [1]
Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Darkiplier Mark Fischbach, Experimental Style, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Mark/Ethan centric, Mental Instability, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Office Sex, Rare Pairings, Unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I__A/pseuds/iconic
Summary: Ethan struggles with his drug addiction. Mark is his therapist.Mostly an experimentation in writing styles.
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Amy Nelson, Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor, Mark Fischbach/Marzia Bisognin, Mark Fischbach/Sean McLoughlin, Mark Fischbach/Signe Hansen, Marzia Bisognin/Ethan Nestor, Marzia Bisognin/Felix Kjellberg, Mika Midgett/Ethan Nestor, Sean McLoughlin/Evelien Smolders
Series: Septem Mortalibus Peccatis [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670641
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Luxuria

Nothing ever made sense.

  
Ethan knows this better than anyone else.

  
For three months he’s been seeing Mark, a much more scandalous affair if one thought that the young man had the audacity to sleep with his psychiatrist after only six sessions. His married psychiatrist.

  
Regardless of the thoughts and whispers billowing down the alleyways and crooked streets misaligned in their poor conditions, Ethan’s past few sessions made less and less sense to him with the passing of time, but he couldn’t be sure if he should blame the new prescription of antidepressants or Mark’s unwinding words that made him feel bared to the older man every single time he allowed the older male to talk (which happened more than he wanted it to).

  
In the beginning, Ethan had been more or less optimistic with the change of psychiatrists, his last one a pain in the ass to deal with with her incessant questions and soft, amber-hued doe eyes that looked at him like she could see the essence of his soul. Sure, he might have developed a small crush on Dr. Bisognin, a woman barely older than himself, after hearing her probing questions and incurably high-pitched giggles for a year (give or take episodes of relapses and night time visits to the ER), but her sudden disappearance resulting in the exposure of her affair from her husband was enough to cause a stir in Ethan’s already hectic life, swirling in his mind like melted ice cream; He could no longer cope with the drastic change until he was transferred to one Mark Fischbach two weeks after Marzia disappeared, an enigmatic man with a charming smile and deep tenor voice that grounded Ethan to something solid, stable, constant, crushes not-mattering in his ever-changing, shakey world.

  
The sessions blurred with the passing days, weeks, one month two. Before the beginning of his session he’d seen Mark’s wife, a petite brunette named Amy with a kind smile reminiscent of Marzia, spin her way in and out of the office here and there now and again, no doubt bringing him a homemade lunch from home as his sessions always fell around lunchtime (though he never had any desire to eat himself). He’d also seen a mourning woman, another small girl with a thin, sharp nose and clear, blue eyes that were always overflowing with tears, leaving his office with a dozed-off expression of relaxed ecstacy, and a couple whose marriage always seemed to hand by a thread, the man scoffing at the woman’s words whenever she chose to speak, their arguments following Ethan as he came and went from the office.

  
Really, it made Ethan almost want to laugh - he felt as if he was the only one without any real problems that warranted a visit to the psychiatrist - after all, all he had was daddy issues that manifested in extreme highs and lows in his state of mind… and some dabbling with illicit drugs that left his brain susceptible to persuasion. Maybe he should try asking out the mourning woman on a date. A wake up call would be enough to make him stand straight on both legs, clean himself up, wash his button nose and finally pull his life together if he could only pull his head out of his own ass.

  
Despite his morbid curiosity to date the girl with a never ending flow of tears, Ethan couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see the older man more, his deep, soothing, hypnotic voice seducing Ethan further and further into a precipice with no end - end to what? Ethan didn’t know. Perhaps he was just afraid of stability, of love and care, of someone waking up next to him on a bright, sunny, Saturday morning with the blinds drawn open to let him bask in the warmth of being loved and wanted. He wanted, he wanted….

  
He wanted those thoughts to fuck off.

  
Only six sessions in, one more to go, and Ethan was driving himself mad with the thoughts of late night visits with one Mark Fischbach, a man with a cushy career, a beautiful, dutiful wife, and more money than he could ever imagine. His kind words weaving themselves in his mind made him want to drool - promises of being pampered with love everyday, instead of just once a week, was enough to get touch-starved Ethan hot and bothered.

  
Ethan had never known a love like his before, a love so crushing and burning that left his skin warm to the touch. It was toe-curling, spine-tingling madness; Drugged up or not, Ethan desired a taste of the cure to his sickness, to keep him riding higher and higher into pure, wanton ecstasy. Maybe he was a whore, in the end, but it didn’t matter - he wanted those lips all over his body.

  
But the world is not so kind.

  
“Doc, I’m getting real tired of this shit,” Ethan said that one faithful day, just him and Mark, alone in a dressed up building with no other person passing through. Mark uncrossed, recrossed his legs, sitting further back into his gray, gray armchair.

  
“What are you getting tired of, Ethan?” he asked, face pensive. The sun outside was starting to dip down lower into the sky, a change in the weather indicating it was almost time for the leaves to fall.

  
Ethan scoffed. He sat up, looking Mark dead in the eye. God, those monstrous, dark eyes, he felt like he was being eaten alive

  
“I’m tired of being high all the time to convince everyone I give a fuck!”

  
He threw his orange prescription bottle, full to the brim of white little pills, to his left, not even watching it smash against the pristine white wall and spill everywhere on the floor. His chest was heaving, breaths coming in pants even though he hadn’t exerted himself at all. Mark watched with a blank expression, eyes unmoving from his prey.

  
If Ethan had turned to see where the pills had landed, he would no doubt have seen the pale hand of one mourning woman passed out on the soft carpet of the office floor.

  
Mark leaned forward, outstretching a single arm to caress the youthful, fitful, angry face of the young man he’d been observing for the past year. His eyes prominently jut out against the sunken dark circles, the adderall no doubt keeping him from a restful night. No wonder Ethan was acting out - he needed to sleep.

He stood up and over Ethan, his other hand snaking its way to cup Ethan’s other cheek. Ethan’s eyes followed his own up, higher and higher until Mark’s lips were mere centimeters away from his own. His pupils were dilated. Even as he yells and screams of being sick of being drugged up, his hands couldn’t stop to reach out for more and more and more of those thin, white pills.

  
“My dear, dear boy…” Mark licked his lips. “So young and pretty… You’re so perceptive, and yet, you use your blackouts, you use them as excuses.” He smiled, a not unkind smile, the tip of his nose rubbing against Ethan’s. He was endlessly fascinated by the boy, by his dramatic outbursts of energy and lethargy, how pliant and moldable he was in his hands, and yet so resistant to his own carnal desires. It drove him mad - he wanted nothing more than to break him down, drive him to tears like he did with Signe, make him bend to his will.

  
“You know you want to do it,” Ethan hissed out, his face twisting into a cruel expression. He leaned further down into his seat, Mark following him further and further down until he was nearly laying on top of the smaller boy, his muscular body nearly crushing the other’s frail one. “Go ahead and then do it. I’m tired of looking for love just as much as I’m tired of looking for drugs,” Ethan cried, tears falling down his cheeks, his smile taunting Mark.

  
“You, you miserable boy,” Mark commented. “Don’t try to seduce me. You know what I’m capable of. I know you’re not deaf.”

  
Flashbacks of high pitched moans drawing out of the mourning woman’s mouth echoing throughout the building flooded Ethan’s mind, images of her pale figure exiting the room with a flushed expression and hickeys littered over the expanse of her lithe body. Yells of ecstacy, both male and female, reverberating and shaking the core being of his existence. Ethan wasn’t an abstinent bitch, not by a long shot, but the cries and shouts of ecstacy originating from the office of a married man were enough to nearly scare him to friarship.

  
The corrupt awakening to his carnal desires were spurred on by the pill popping mouth of his ex-girlfriend Mika, a two-week relationship built on nothing but her desire to ride him until there was no promise of tomorrow, until Ethan’s memories were filled with black spots and shaky visions of angels and death and whatnot that left him a bloody pulp spewing profanities to the sinking sun.

  
“I know you want me,” Ethan laughed regardless of the stinging feeling that sat deep in the pit of his heart. “I’ve learned a lot about you in the past two months, Dr. Fischbach. You’re an unfaithful man to your wife, a cheater, and a liar, but you don’t care. You want me to think, that I’m capable of loving, of being loved, with your pretty promises

  
_“I know it’s hard right now to imagine,” Mark reassured the young boy with a pleasant smile on his face, “but you deserve the kind of joy that stays and reminds you that the light will be strong again. You are someone worth fighting for, Ethan-” he grabbed the young boy’s hand firmly with his own, the warmth exuding from them making Ethan’s cheeks turn into a rosy pink color, “so please, be kind to yourself. Your heart is still beating for a reason, my love. You are so very needed in this world. And I know it might feel like there is nothing left but pain but trust me, darling, there is so much more.”_

“you fucking ingrate. I know you. You want to love me

  
_Mark placed his forehead against Ethan’s, breaths shaky. His heartbeat was pounding, could Ethan hear it too? It wouldn’t surprise him if he could - Ethan knew his body better than he did his own (though it wouldn’t be fair to say that he also didn’t know the ins and outs of his favorite patient). He didn’t know when these feelings began to bloom; maybe it was in their first encounter nearly a year ago to the date, when he caught a glimpse of his blushed expression hidden behind the flowing, golden blonde hair of Marzia Bisognin? Or perhaps it was during one such rendevouz with the pretty perky psychiatrist, when he caught sight of that once-vibrant blue hair coming crashing into the office in the dark fall hours of the night, his boyish face full of wonder and knowingness._

  
_One hundred and one small interactions, all leading to this - this undesired love blossoming deep in his heart, overpowering all needs and wants. He wanted to guard the ever-changing young boy, keep him safe from the cold, cruel world, but the temptation to hold him close was too strong to resist as well. His wife Amy would never forgive him - but then again, would she ever, if she knew the truth of those late night work hours in the office, flocked with wondrous women with bubblegum pink lips, crystal clear eyes shining with fresh tears and unfaithful husbands looking to blow off some steam? Perhaps she would forgive him for indulging in this sin, his hazel hued sin._

  
“but you’re not the one I love,” Ethan slapped Mark’s hands away, wiping the tears flooding his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “I know Mark. His touch is warm, almost burning, but your hands are freezing cold. You’re not him.”

  
Ethan got up, and pushed past Mark to the glass windows opposite to their initial position, not caring about the passed out bodies of Marzia, Signe, or Sean stacked behind Mark’s desk.

  
“You’re a worse liar than I am, Dark,” Ethan commented with a dry laugh. Dark didn’t say anything, his vision too blurred to focus on the small figure opening the window to the world thirteen stories below them.

Ethan Nestor was a liar.

  
Everything made sense to him.

  
He was perceptive, sharp, witty, with a love for the theatrics. He knew that Marzia Bisognin was a liar, too - she was too obvious about her affair with Mark, her constant flirting and giggles following both psychiatrists when they were together after hours when his sessions with her were over, at the end of the day. He knew that Mark was a liar, an unfaithful man, but one in denial. Mark wouldn’t consciously choose to open his arms up to any woman with a pretty smile with a wife like Amy - no, someone else was riding that high between lucidity and delirium

  
Ethan had been taking his medication - at least, until he found Marzia’s wedding band tucked away on one of Mark’s various wooden bookshelves on his third session with the man. Ethan couldn’t afford to be surprised. Crushes be damned, he couldn’t help but feel a little relieved of knowing that, although it was highly unlikely that Marzia would ever see the light of day again, she was at least safe and secure with the man he knew would never allow her to be in harm's way; No matter how cruel Dark’s tricks could be, he wouldn’t bring himself to kill anyone.

  
Ethan couldn’t help but fall in love with Mark, too, love as much as he could love in his altered state of reality. Six sessions with the man, six two-hour long sessions with the only man who would undress him with his words, kiss his mind with patience and kindness, touch his most intimate parts with gentle caresses - the rumors were true, he, Ethan Nestor, was the boy who slept with his psychiatrist after only one session, only one hour of words spewing out of a lying man like a broken faucet.

  
The others were liars too. His world was full of them - Mika, Signe, Sean, Gab, Amy - all of them. Who would believe the words of a liar? God forgive them all, for their only sin is the sin of excessive love of others.

  
The seventh session proved to stand a point, however - Ethan could not love a man in denial, his trauma pushing his urges to rebirth itself as Dark. He knew from the beginning that something was wrong - Mark would usually begin the session with fleeting touches and kisses, assurances, whispers, declarations of love alongside soft seductions of profanities, promises of a tomorrow where the sun will rise once more to kiss the tears of yesterday away - ignoring the here and now, the when and where and why of Signe’s lingering perfume on the collar of Mark’s gray suit, the hastily-washed pink lipstick making it look like the pink hued rouge Amy wears everyday - the growing anticipation of watching Sean enter his couple’s session alone for the second time with a gleeful expression, Gab’s sarcastic words nowhere to be heard outside the heavy glass doors.

  
No, today the office was empty. There was no receptionist to greet him, no wait for him to endure for as soon as he stepped off the elevator into the waiting lounge Dark stood at the doorway, waiting for him with a somber expression on his face, arms crossed across his chest and eyes framed by the telling tale of dark circles. Ethan could still smell the aroma of a sweet, flowery aroma wafting through the air, a hidden musky smell not unlike Sean’s mixed in with Signe’s clean perfume and Marzia’s sweet (but overpowering) one.

  
Still, his nose could not pick up the warm, comforting notes of Mark’s earthy scent - just a cold, metallic smell that nearly convinced Ethan that his nose was bleeding, and an awful headache.

  
Ethan Nestor was a liar, but he could see many truths hidden in those pools of that eternal darkness.

  
Everything made sense.

  
Mark Fischbach was the worst liar of them all.

  
Amy walked in on them in the sixth session, a freshly baked apple pie in one hand, a small brown paper bag in the other; Mark’s hand on Ethan’s throat, the other right where their bodies connected them together.

  
Mark didn’t stop, didn’t slow down - in fact, seeing Amy’s shocked expression spurred him on, an animalistic growl erupting from the bottom of his throat as his hips pistoned faster and faster deep inside Ethan, Ethan’s moans rising higher and higher in pitch, nails digging deep into Mark’s back. Amy threw the food in their direction - just barely grazing Mark’s hair - and ran away, her high heels clack clack clacking further and further away.

  
“Mark-” Ethan moaned, “she-she didn’t - oh fuck - she didn’t close the - oh my god right there - she didn’t close the door.”

  
Mark let out a small laugh, finally slowing down to a stop.

  
“Come on, wrap your arms and legs around me,” he instructed, placing his own arms around Ethan’s waist, refusing to let go of the young boy. He lifted the younger man up with a small grunt and began to make the long trek from his desk to the door, Ethan bouncing on his cock on every single step, which erupted sharp, loud moans from the boy.

  
“A-ah wait, y-you’re going too- FUCK- too deep! Mark!”

  
Mark slammed Ethan against the door, closing it with a sharp BANG. He held him up against the door as he continued to slam his dick into Ethan’s ass in a rapid pace, too worked up to slow down or to let Ethan down on the floor. Ethan’s hands snaked their way up to Mark’s hair, tugging and pulling with every moan.

  
“P-Please, Mark…” Ethan tugged Mark’s head away from his throat. He had tears running down his face, pupils dilated, but Mark knew it wasn’t from any drug. “Kiss me.”

  
Their lips crashed into one another at an incredible speed, both of them too eager, too full of energy; Their tongues flashed in and out of each other’s mouths in rapid succession.

  
Ethan broke apart from the kiss first, releasing an ungodly moan to the heavens as he reached his climax, Mark following not soon after.

Nothing made sense.

  
Dark looked at Ethan’s blurred face, everything around the edges turning black. He couldn’t focus on the young boy, just barely eighteen, looking at him with disgust.

Ethan was standing on the ledge of the open window, one arm holding him hanging just above the precipice of certain death. His face was sweaty, eyes unfocused even as he looked dead on at his captor. Ah, this was . Dark jumped at his feet at the realization.

“Ethan-”

  
“Shut the fuck up,” Ethan spat out. “I can’t take this anymore, Dark. You’re a dirty fucking mongrel, running around and fucking anything that’ll spread its legs to you. Like, jesus fuck you’re sleeping with your patients?! It’s almost bad enough that Mark’s married and sleeping with me, you made him into a slut. And now you’re kidnapping them?!” He gestured to the passed out figures on the floor with his other hand. “You’re really something, Dark. You’re hilarious for thinking that I wouldn’t notice anything. Mark’s the only one who slept with me sober. You only appear to fuck everyone and their mother when he’s high.”

  
“Wait, you don’t understand-”

  
“I SAID SHUT UP!” Ethan closed his eyes, breaths slow and shallow.

  
_“If you exert yourself anymore you’ll burn up and pass out.”_

  
He let out a shaky breath.

  
“I don’t know what kind of fucked up ideas you got going on in your head, but I can assure you that if you come any closer I will jump,” he warned. “I need to know, what do you ?”

  
  


ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

**Author's Note:**

> the ending is super unsatisfying to me too, yk, but it was never meant to be taken seriously in the first place anyway.
> 
> it's a continuation of a series that's taking too long to be drawn out anyway.


End file.
